


Blank Page - A Sherlock Fanfiction

by naivesherlolly



Series: Blank Page - A Sherlock Fanfiction [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 08:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21455011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naivesherlolly/pseuds/naivesherlolly
Summary: Victoria wanted to be published.She wanted nothing more than to feel the pages of her own book in her hands, one that she had written all by herself. But it seems that fate has decided it's not happening. Not yet, at least.But when Victoria meets Sherlock - the famous consulting detective - will her luck change, or will she find herself with even more plates to balance?
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Blank Page - A Sherlock Fanfiction [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546645
Kudos: 2





	Blank Page - A Sherlock Fanfiction

I did not feel ready at all. I'm not even sure why I decided to take this meeting, because I could almost certainly predict the outcome - 'I'm awfully sorry, but I just don't think we're looking to publish anything like this at the moment, although I wish you all the luck in the future'. Just another way of saying 'Your writing isn't good enough, don't come back until you've written something worth publishing'. And they were probably right. My works definitely weren't up to the same standards as Jane Austen or Emily Brontë, so who was I to argue with the professionals? If they didn't like my work, then why would any member of the general public like it? I'd hardly say that my book would be one that caught peoples eyes in the book shop - or rather online - but more one that you would find in a charity shop, abandoned, scribbled over and half of the cover missing. I was just about ready to give up until an email pinged up one day from 'Porter Publishing', saying that they would be delighted if I could make it in to meet with one of their publishers. Of course, I stabbed aggressively at the reply button as soon as I'd read the contents, and wrote back an extremely enthusiastic and grateful message, hoping that this could be the one - the publisher that decides that maybe, just maybe, my writing isn't that bad after all. 

But as I found myself standing outside of what looked like an abandoned drug den, suddenly the idea that this was 'the one' was thrown out of one of the broken windows on the third floor. The walls themselves were a dusty grey colour which just so happened to match the shade of the sky today, with ivy strands scaling the outside, almost trying to cover the monstrosity. Even if they did like my book, I'm not entirely sure that I would want them to be the ones to publish it. But I had been lucky enough to have been offered a chance, so I hoisted one of the straps on my black leather satchel up to my shoulder and cautiously stepped inside the building. Immediately, I was bombarded with the racket of twenty - or so - office workers, sat at bare, uncluttered desks, looking like they would rather be voicing finger puppets for a children's birthday party than reading through page after page of what was probably the fiftieth book they had reviewed today. As I approached up to the front desk - basically a poor excuse for a reception - I was greeted by a fairly young, bored looking woman who was sat staring at the clumpy PC while noisily chewing her gum. I stood there for at least a minute before clearing my throat, gaining the attention of the receptionist. 

'Excuse me, but I think I have an appointment with one of your publishers today - Alfred Olsley?' 

'You 'fink, or you know?' 

'I know.' I stuttered. 'I definitely have an appointment.' The churlish woman blew a bubble with her gum, before slowly turning her gaze away from me, and to the computer. 

'Name?' 

'Victoria Hadley.' As she slowly typed my name into the computer, one letter at a time, I took a moment to observe her clothing. She clearly wasn't that well off, in fact - the clothes she wore looked at least a year old. Clearly this job didn't pay well, but that was fairly obvious as it wasn't anything to strenuous or skilled. I bet the advert for it was something along the lines of; _'Full-time Receptionist for a dismal and downright depressing book publishers. Looking for an equally unenthusiastic young adult with no aspirations in life whatsoever, please apply within.' _Now thinking about it, she reminded me of Flash the Sloth from Zootopia, and I was Judy Hopps, and although I wasn't in a rush, I found the situation quite irking considering I could be doing something much more productive with my time than waiting for this incompetent woman to do her job. 

'He's waiting for ya' - you can go through.' She tilted her head in the direction of the light brown door behind her, and I nodded my head in thanks, before making my way over, passing the desk as I went. Standing in front of the door, I could feel my nerves bubbling up my throat, but I swallowed them down with confidence, which I tried my hardest to exude as I knocked on the door. I studied the silver plaque that had been unevenly stuck to the door; _Alfred Olsley - Publisher. _Well thank you for that, until I'd read it, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing here! When I heard a sort of grunt come from the other side of the door, I twisted the matching silver doorknob which to my utter disgust was coated with grease from god knows what. 

I don't really know what I was expecting. Maybe one or two bookshelves filled with books that Mr Olsley had published, or filing cabinets neatly lining the room. But that wasn't the view that greeted me - far from it, in fact. Instead of grand oak bookcases, there was a stuffy air that filled the nearly completely unoccupied room. The only piece of furniture inside the room was a desk - similar to the ones in the open office outside - which stood weirdly out of place in the middle of the room. Behind said desk sat a balding man, who of which had a pot belly and red and black braces that were only just keeping his trousers from falling down, even though he was seated. On top of his hairless head sat a pair of unframed spectacles, which were attached at both ends by a black string that went around the back of his head. All in all, not what I was expecting in the slightest. I tried to stop myself from feeling disappointed, but whenever I’d imagined this moment, it had never played out as anti-climatically as this. 

'Miss...' Alfred trailed off, referring back to his papers for my name, 'Hadley. Ah yes, I remember now. Please, take a seat.' I did as he said, but cautiously so. With the state of the rest of the office, I could never be too careful. Luckily, the seat seemed virtually untouched, which in hind sight, I'm not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 'So, tell me a bit about yourself. Where you grew up?' 

'Well I grew up in Hertfordshire, I had a pretty normal life, but the one thing that made me different to other children was the fact that I always had my nose in a book. Pretty much my whole life revolves around books, and they play an extremely big part in what I enjoy. So when I was 12, I decided that I wanted to try and write my own, and I haven't stopped writing since. But I'm fairly sure that my writing has improved since then. Well, hopefully.' I chuckled, playing with the rings on my hands out of nervousness. 

'So you have a lot of experience with this type of thing then? Not just an amateur?' I shook my head. 

'Not at all. I've been through countless of these processes, all of them a failure, so I was hoping that this might be my lucky day. I'd say I have quite a lot of experience with writing, seen as I've been doing it for nearly fifteen years.' As I worked it out in my head, I was quite shocked at how long I'd actually been doing this for. It definitely didn't feel like fifteen years to me, but I guess time flies when you're having fun, and getting rejected, it seems. 

'Right. Well, after reading your book, we've come to a decision.' This was the moment that I had been waiting for. Although not ideal, it was all I had left. I looked at the nasally voiced man, awaiting an elaboration on his 'decision'. 'We would be delighted to publish your book, so long as you have two more written and ready to be published within the next year.' And just like that, I could see vividly the hope that I had swim down the vent attached to the floor. 

'I'm sorry, two more books in _one year_? That's impossible. It's taken me two years to perfect this book, One year to write two is completely unrealistic.' Alfred narrowed his eyes, looking me up and down in a scrutinising fashion, which made my skin crawl. 

'I don't think that's unrealistic at all. But if you don't think you're up to it, then maybe we should take our business elsewhere.' _There's not many other places to take your business by the looks of it. _I thought.

'Yes, I think that would be best for you. I most definitely would not be able to meet those requirements, as the stress would be stupendous.' As I got up to leave, Mr Olsley spoke up again.

'You wouldn't mind mentioning us to any of your writing friends, would you? Ya' know, give us a bit of a boost.' I slowly turned around, looking at him with disbelief written all over my face. I didn't even say anything, I just walked out of the room. As I passed the desk, the god-awful receptionist gave me a loathsome smile, which made it clear that she knew exactly what had gone on in that office. 

'Have a nice day!' She said to my back sarcastically. I had half a mind to stick my middle finger up at her, and I would have done, had that not been unprofessional, but I still had to keep my calm, as I didn't know what influence this company had over others. Hopefully not a lot, otherwise I was completely and utterly screwed. Stepping out of that gruesome office, I was finally able to breathe properly again, without smelling what every one of the office workers had for lunch. I stood on the curb for just a minute, basically contemplating my life so far. _What have I actually achieved? _I worked at a bakery just around the corner from where I lived, and even though it was good pay, I still couldn't say that I enjoyed it all that much. I would obviously rather be writing for a living. I wanted to be able to call myself a published author, only then will I feel happy with my life. After what felt like ten minutes, which in reality was probably only a minute or so, getting a taxi back home seemed like the best thing to do. I could always try and contact some other publishers, there are far more than you would think. 

As I stepped right up to the curb to wave down a passing cab, I was jostled to the side by a tall man, much taller than me, who was also waving down the same cab, but did seem to have seen me. As I stumbled back a little, I spoke up.

'Excuse me, but I think you'll find that was my cab.' The man looked surprised to find someone behind him, and when he turned around, he seemed taken aback at my appearance. So as I stood there, confused as to who this stranger was and why he was so intrigued with me, the cabbie was watching the scene play out with a small glint in his eyes. 


End file.
